


Short circuit

by Cardinal_Sin (HU_shipper)



Series: Powerwolf Prompt Fics [3]
Category: Powerwolf (Band)
Genre: First Meeting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 15:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19872031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HU_shipper/pseuds/Cardinal_Sin
Summary: After Stephane's (mildly inconvenient) departure from the band, the guys need a new drummer. Luckily, the owner of the studio knows just the man for the job. Roel appears and Charles suddenly forgets how to function.





	Short circuit

Stephane's departure from the band really came at a bad time. They were just about to start recording, still unsure if the fame would last, still stuck in a limbo of "I can't believe we came through" and "this won't get any bigger".

So when the drummer announced that he needed to prioritize his private life and therefore quitting the band was inevitable, it was a lot bigger of a blow than it could have been further down the road.

Thankfully, the owner of the studio knew a guy and they had set a date to have this new guy – Roel – try out. Charles trusted the owner and was grateful for the offer, but couldn't help being sceptical about going into recording with a brand new drummer.

That had been yesterday, when they had been told that Roel would come down to the studio, and now they were just sitting around, making idle small talk, waiting for the drummer to get there. Charles was growing restless, feeling trapped in the small room furnished with a few couches to make downtime between sessions more comfortable.

He got up, desperately in need of fresh air. Roel could be arriving in any minute so he knew that staying put could ultimately work out better, but _shit_. There was no air in the tiny room whatsoever.

Having announced this to his bandmates, Charles grabbed his coat and headed outside. The chilly air helped in cleaning up the fog on his mind a little, letting him breathe and think clearly at once.

Charles checked his phone, assessed that he still had at least ten minutes before absolutely needing to go back inside, and on a whim decided to take a walk. The part of town they were in wasn't particularly nice, but it was interesting enough to keep his mind from going into overdrive.

Charles kind of got lost. Both with his sense of time, grossly miscalculating how long ten minutes actually were, but also physically. It took him another twenty minutes to find his way back to the studio, now being tragically late and feeling ashamed in advance. He took off his jacket and practically ran down the corridor to the room his band was occupying.

He opened the door to pleasant conversation that quickly died as the people noticed him one by one. Charles barely acknowledged his bandmates, only giving a half-nod to Matthew to signal that he was, indeed fine, only the usual dumbass.

Charles' eyes stopped on something. Or probably someone, as the thing turned out to be a chest. Which was only a little lower than eye level. Now, Charles was by no means short, that was Matthew. So for a guy to be that much taller than him, that was impressive.

His eyes travelled upwards until he finally looked the man in the eye. The man, who he assumed to be Roel, had a slight baby face – a weird contrast with his body – a small beard and a pair of pale blue eyes. He was, let's not beat around the bush, hot.

"Uh, hi," Charles managed to say, eloquent as always, "I'm Charles. You Roel?"

The other man nodded, flashing him a toothy smile. Charles resisted the urge to roll his eyes, annoyed at his own thoughts screaming "oh no he's hot" at him a la Squidward.

"Yeah. I mean, that's me. Roel Van Helden, pleased to meet you. I'm here because I was told you need a drummer?"

They shook hands. Now normally, Charles would have noticed how nice his palms were, dry and calloused, but he was too preoccupied with a different detail.

The fucking Dutch accent.

He wasn't told about this. No one tried to prepare him for the oddly endearing way the other man spoke, his voice a little nasal, but his "r"-s stuck in the back of his throat. Oh, and the way he said "drummer", almost unrecognizable but adorable nonetheless.

Charles only realized that he had been staring at the taller man for what was likely a few minutes already when Attila clapped his hands, suggesting they start the session, first with listening to Roel, then, hopefully, going on to recording and maybe even starting on a contract.

Okay, so the last bit was Charles' insufferable mind creating scenarios. Sue him.

***

Somewhere in the middle of the session, Matthew turned to Charles. They were in the sound booth, looking at Roel killing it on the drums on the other side of the glass.

"So, Charles, what do you think of Roel?" He asked, a cruel smile in the corner of his mouth. The younger man was a devious little shit. Well, Charles thought, he was lucky to not have both him AND Falk nag him at the same time. Those two were insufferable together.

"He's... Good. Yeah. I have a good feeling about this." Charles nodded, trying to at least convince himself of having succeeded in creating a normal reply.

"Are you sure that's your only opinion? Because, um, how to put this lightly..." Matthew made a face that screamed _I'm only pretending to be in thought because I'm a little shit_.

"Shut up, Matthew," Charles growled, exasperated. "I know I kind of short-circuited on him back there, but you should be the last person to judge me. Mister Couldn't-Say-A-Word-To-Falk-Until-He-Made-A-Move-First."

"You're a little shit, Charles," Matthew grumbled, sinking into his chair. "We agreed never to mention that."

They fell silent for a few minutes, this time actually paying attention to Roel.

"You're gonna ask him out though, right?" Matthew mumbled, out of the blue. Charles smiled a little.

"You bet."


End file.
